


For a moment

by felixfvlicis



Series: hp_may_madness [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_may_madness, Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixfvlicis/pseuds/felixfvlicis
Summary: A collection of Harry Potter one-shots featuring different slash pairings in the month of May.  Written forhp_may_madnessover at LiveJournal.





	1. The many uses of jam

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Harry paddles down the stairs, rubbing his eyes relentlessly.  His black nest is more unkempt than usual, his fingers catching between the dark strands.  He yawns as his toes brush the hardwood floor.

He sighs with relief as the cool air kisses the soles of his feet.  It’s too bloody warm to be fully clothed.  Sticky air surrounds him, and he can feel the mixture of pollen and ash clinging to his skin in desperation.  He sighs and rounds the corner.

Three jars of jam are sitting on the counter, their last bits of sticky sweetness clinging to the glass.  Draco’s golden blond hair falls against his temple, his lower lip pinned between his teeth.  Red marmalade coats his fingers burrows underneath his perfectly manicured nails.  Halves of English muffins are laid on the counter before him, the silver butter knife loose in his grip.  Draco’s fascination with Muggle food still manages to light something fierce in Harry, the warm, fiery embers pooling, roaring to life in his abdomen.  He smiles.

“Oh, Draco.  Didn’t your mother ever teach you . . .” he murmurs, lifting an eyebrow playfully, shuffling over to Draco and wrapping his warm, calloused hands around Draco’s lean torso.  “That it’s not civilized to play with your food?”

“Keep throwing jabs at me, Harry, and you’ll find that it’s much less fun to play with yourself at night,”  Draco whispers, though Harry can feel the smirk playing at his lips.

Harry chuckles, deep and warm, vibrating Draco’s spine.  He shivers in response, placing the knife haphazardly in the near-empty jar, ignoring its fierce _clink_.  He hums quietly, lifting his index finger to Harry’s mouth.  He knew Harry would take it, as he always does, but this . . . it’s dirty, wet, and sinful.  Draco’s quickened breaths become entangled with the noises from Harry’s throat as he makes slow work of sucking Draco’s flesh.  His mouth stills as he feels Draco’s hips push back against him.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums, releasing Draco’s finger, the flesh pink and pulsing with blood. “I don’t know, Draco.  I think you’d miss me.”

Draco moans, pulling himself free of Harry’s embrace and facing him.

“I’ve had about enough of your mouth this morning, Potter.”

“I must be losing my touch.”

“Quite,”  Draco mutters, rolling his eyes.

Harry loves riling him up like this, loves to see the way his eyes harden around the edges, though his irises burn with desire.  It’s what he sees now.

Draco casts a cleaning spell and vanishes the utensils from the counter before eyeing Harry once more.

“On the table.  Now.”

Harry grins, slow and lazy, reminiscent of the moment right before he catches the snitch -- the world goes still and all he can hear is the thump-thump-thump of his heart, pulsing beneath his chest.  His hands rest on his hips, lip lodged between his teeth.  One look at Draco, and it’s as if they’re sixteen again -- tangled in things they know nothing about, yet, so familiar with each other.

Harry pushes himself onto the table’s surface, shifting his hips so that he’s able to lie flat on his back.  He spreads his legs wide enough for Draco to burrow himself between them.  He winces as his now-scalding back comes into contact with the counter.  He blinks, and suddenly, Draco is straddling his hips, unscrewing the lid of the jam and swiping his finger against the sides of the jar, his fingers coated in the sweetness that remains.

“Seems a pity to waste this, don’t you agree?”  Draco drawls, swiping his tongue over his top lip.  Harry shivers.  His skin is on fire, wordlessly begging for Draco’s touch.

“Mmmm, Draco . . .” Harry whimpers, “do something already.  Please?”

“Well,” Draco murmurs, “since you said _please_ . . .”

Harry sucks in a sharp breath as Draco’s fingers roam over his chest, painting the tan skin with hues of thick, sticky red.

Harry swallows as Draco pulls back, watching him intently as he admires his work.  He tries to stay silent, but Draco’s name falls from his lips in a breathy whisper.

“If you’re still talking, Harry, I’m not doing a proper job.”

Harry nods, and he wants to groan, but he sees something predatory flash in Draco’s eyes and he _knows_.

As it turns out, jam has more uses than he thought.


	2. Looking for magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Pansy winces as she toes into her heels, walking to her closet cautiously.  She blinks once, cursing herself for that shot of firewhisky -- its murmur called to her from Blaise’s liquor cabinet.  She shivers, though her cheeks are fiery and flushed, perfectly round, like a cherry hanging from its stem.  She thumbs through the dresses in her closet with more force than necessary, wrinkling the fabric in the bust and hips.  With a frustrated sigh, she selects a jaw-dropper (no doubt), though it’s expected.  The deep emerald green colour is bound to capture Draco’s attention.  Calling it ‘short’ is an understatement.  If she even attempts to bend at the waist, everyone will get a look-see, free of charge.  The dress fits like a glove, clinging to her upper thigh.  Pushing a strand of jet black hair behind her ear, she decides it’s time to grace the halls of Hogwarts with her presence.  
  
“Bloody hell, Pans,” Draco murmurs, “couldn’t you have chosen something more . . .”  
  
“Let me guess -- ‘ _tasteful’_?”  Pansy mocks, eyes narrowed, chin raised.  
  
Draco nods, his mouth shut in a tight line, though there’s a distinct flush to his cheeks.  
  
“Are you going to ask me to dance or stand there all night?”  
  
Draco swallows.  His eyes roam over Pansy’s figure briefly before he fixes his eyes on the doorway once more, bottom lip pinned between his teeth.  Waiting for, hoping for -- wanting -- Potter.  
  
Pansy rolls her eyes and fights the urge to stalk off.  Despite her slight tipsiness, she’s far too dignified for that, though she can’t deny the sting surrounding the lump in her throat.  She smooths the emerald fabric down across her thighs and makes a bee-line for the champagne.  Bubbles fix everything.  
  
Twenty minutes later, she barely registers the tap on her shoulder.  It’s light, soft and tentative, though if she’s still enough, there’s a quiet insistence in the long, thin fingers.  It sends shivers down her spine.  
  
“Hello, Pansy,” Luna chimes, the curious wonder in her voice undeniable.  Her eyes nearly sparkle in this light.  
  
“Lovegood.” Pansy acknowledges, with a hint of uncertainty.  
  
“You’re a real knockout tonight.”  
  
There’s something warm and genuine in Luna’s voice that makes Pansy want to meet her gaze.  When she does, she’s on the receiving end of a rather mischevious glint, and she can’t look away.  
  
“Well, thank you, _darling_.”  
  
“I assure you, Pansy, you’re most welcome.”  
  
Luna winks at her, a slow smile playing on her lips before she turns and vanishes like a whisper in the crowd.  
  
Halfway into the evening, and her third glass of champagne, Pansy leans heavily against a pillar, toeing out of her shoes and sending death glares in Draco’s general vicinity.  There’s a mere _inch_ between him and Potter.  Pansy scowls and grips the flute of her glass tighter than she should.  She has half a mind to scream obscene things at them both, but just as she opens her mouth to do so, the crowd parts, like magic, and Luna’s staring at her once more.  She blinks, swallowing thickly.  
  
A gasp escapes her lips when she feels chilled fingers settle on her hips.  
  
“Sorry to startle you, but you looked a bit lonely.  I thought I’d come and ask you to dance.”  
  
“I don’t dance, Lovegood.”  
  
“Neither do I, really.  It’s all in good fun.”  
  
“Fun,” Pansy scoffs, running her fingers through her hair.  “... What I wanted to have with Draco, this dress strewn across his bedpost.  But, _no_.  He only has eyes for the _Chosen One_.”  
  
“Ah,” Luna hums.  “I could have saved you the heartache, dear.  That’s been building for years.”  
  
“You sound like Blaise.”  
  
“He isn’t wrong, you know.”  
  
“I know.” Pansy groans, burying her face in her hands.  Her breath hitches at Luna’s touch -- a soft, chilled palm wrapped around her wrist.  
  
“All is not lost, you know.  The night is young, magical things can happen, if you know where to look.”  
  
Pansy sighs, though she doesn’t try to free herself from Luna’s grasp.  The scent of honeysuckle lingers in the strands of Luna’s hair, filling Pansy with a burst of unexpected nostalgia.  It’s likely the champagne, but she wants to drown in it, to feel the blades of grass tickle the pale skin on her neck, the way her thighs tense as wind’s whispers cling to the soles of her feet.  Her gaze drops to Luna’s lips, and she wants.  
  
“Tell me, then,” Pansy whispers, leaning into Luna’s touch.  “Where should I be looking?”  
  
Luna steps forward until her petite frame is pressed up against Pansy, which elicits a gasp from the Slytherin’s lips.  She never even saw her coming.  
  
“Here, of course,” Luna murmurs, lips ghosting over Pansy’s, a feather-light touch, too much and not enough at once.  
  
Pansy shivers, opening her eyes.  Somehow, Luna knows just what she needs.  
  
“Should you need help with your zipper -- later -- look for me.”  
  
Pansy’s lips are still parted, a deep pulse pushes against her thighs.  
  
Luna makes slow work of Pansy’s zipper -- mouthing first at the feminine curve her neck, parted lips lingering between pale shoulder blades.  Her soft, melodic hums vibrate against Pansy’s skin just before her tongue darts out to lick at the exposed flesh.  
  
An unsolicited moan escapes Pansy’s lips as she pulls herself from Luna’s loose grasp, turning around.  Her eyes are dark, brimming with a desire she’d never felt for Draco -- intricate knots tangled around the bones of her ribcage that Luna seems so determined to unearth.  
  
Hours later, slivers of moonlight kiss their spines.  Pansy combs her fingers through Luna’s soft waves, the scent of honeysuckle lingering on her skin.  She smiles to herself as she eyes the green dress, unzipped and flung across the bedpost.  
  
This is what she’d bought it for, after all.


	3. I still feel like your man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

“Y’know, _Harrrrrr-y_ ,” Ron slurs, “M’best mate and --” before he slumps down onto the tattered couch, arms flopping heavily at his sides.

“Ron,” Harry coaxes, his forearm braced against the back of Ron’s knees, pulling them upward and fluffing two more throw pillows.  “Sit up for me, yeah?”

“N’thing for you.  I love you.  You ever noticed that your … eyes … eyes are so green?  So green, _Harrrrrr---y_.”

Harry laughs, rolling his eyes.  “I know you, Ron.  You’re just saying that because I pay your rent.”

“ _Well!_ ” Ron whines, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists.  “Someone’s got … got … to.  ‘Mione … she … _haaaaaaaaates_ me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

Ron scoffs and shivers, despite the deep red flush coloring his cheeks.

Harry _accio’s_ a soft knit throw from the corner of the room, draping it carefully over Ron’s figure.  Hovering over him, Harry’s senses are assaulted with the scent of sharp, sweet lemon.  He inhales deeply, allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

Tension creeps into his shoulders and he jerks back.

_He remembers the way he mouthed at Draco’s neck, inhaling the scent of lemon and coating his lips with the salty taste of his sweat as Draco’s hands dug into his hips, a knee braced between his legs -- spread and unabashedly eager._

_“I never pegged you as the lascivious type, Potter.”  Draco drawled, raising his eyebrows slightly._

_“Mmmm, Draco.  I’d,” Harry murmured, inhaling sharply as Draco’s fingers slipped underneath his cotton henley.  “Do anything for you.”_

Harry swallows hard, shivering as the soft hands of longing wrap around his throat.  He stumbles backward, eager to put distance between himself and Ron.  Somewhere, straddling the lines of the living room and kitchen, he decides that, yes, firewhisky is a good idea.

The second glass mellows him out considerably, though, as he trudges up the stairs, he tastes lemon and the remnants of Draco on his lips.

He groans, closing the door to Sirius’s bedroom softly behind him as darkness greets him like an old friend.


	4. Culpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Dusk’s colors bleed into the strands Hermione’s hair as she steps tentatively across the Quidditch pitch, her fingers trembling.  She feels the moment the spring breeze captures her words, carrying them into the darkness just below the stands.  Her gaze lingers on the budding blades of grass and she allows herself, just for a moment, to be seduced by the reverie of her youth.

A burst of warm, heady laughter pulls her from her daze.  She breathes slowly, her chest bathed in dusk’s light as it rises and falls, eyes focused on the shadow hovering in front of her.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Ginny whispers, reverently, pushing a strand of her long, strawberry hair behind her ear.  “You came.”

“I did.  You must know I wouldn’t have missed this.”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t.”

Hermione licks her lips tentatively, her eyes still focused on Ginny’s silhouette. She knows she’s fighting a losing battle.  Five years, and she’s still unable to resist the _want_ reflected in Ginny’s eyes.  It hurts --  her lungs sting as she leans in, swallowing Ginny’s earthy, clean scent -- yet, she remains, willing to face death a thousand times over just to feel Ginny’s pale pink lips ghost over her collarbone once more.  These days, she’s rather apperceptive of her feelings.  Harry would swear she should be sorted into Hufflepuff.  A half-hearted smile forms on her lips at the thought.

Her shoulders tense underneath Ginny’s touch.

“Ginny,” she breathes, “We shouldn’t.”

“But you want to.”

Hermione bites her lower lip, pulling herself away from Ginny’s gaze, turning inward.

“That hardly matters anymore.”

“Hermione. _Please_.”  Ginny murmurs, her warm, calloused fingers caressing Hermione’s cheek.

“I --”

“Do you remember what it feels like to be still?”

Hermione nods slowly, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes.

“Then be still.  With me.”

The air shifts around them, and everything becomes clear.  A shiver clings to Hermione’s spine, winding downward, slowly, until she feels it in her toes.  Instinctively, she tilts her head toward Ginny.  The warmth of her magic envelops them as Ginny’s fingers settle underneath her chin, and she remembers.


	5. All I want to do is touch your skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is pining … _again_ , and it’s annoying the hell out of Draco, or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Harry sips his firewhisky laboriously, eyes flitting to the windowpanes every so often, hypnotized by the glowing street lamps that mock the deep, dark circles just above his cheekbones.  It’s his third night at the bar this week.

 

Draco’s laugh, deep and warm, pulls him from his hypnotic state.  The empty glass vibrates against Harry’s fingers, the sharp lip begging to make his flesh bleed.  He cuts his eyes at Blaise, leaning behind the bar with an air of nonchalance, though a seductive smirk is plastered across his lips.  Bastard.  The back of Draco’s neck turns a delicious shade of red.  Harry swallows thickly, fighting to keep still.

 

Though his mind is no longer held captive by Voldemort, Draco’s quietly assumed the vacant position, unbeknownst to him.  Harry’s secrets, desires, and fears are etched into Draco’s pale face, settled and content in his sharp cheekbones, define jaw and pale lips.  His voice rough with desire each time Harry attempts to push him away.  Though each time Harry reaches for him in the dark, in a moment of desperate longing, he vanishes.  It’s maddening.  To combat his impending madness (or, as Hermione has aptly named it -- doom), he’s taken up drinking.  Firewhisky understands his need to savor the burn as the transparent liquid slides down his throat.  It’s willing and able to make that sacrifice, and it’s one that Harry appreciates.  One that he can always count on.

 

He licks his lips once more, feeling his cheeks flush and shivers at the tiny beads of sweat that latch onto his shoulders.  He pushes back the wooden chair with more force than necessary.  Draco doesn’t even flinch, his gaze still locked on Blaise’s strong dark figure.

 

Harry shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs so deeply that a strand of hair lifts itself from his forehead, nearly slick with sweat.  He stands an inch from Draco’s back, stupefied by his warm, citrusy scent.

 

“Honestly, Harry,” Draco murmurs, “I wish you’d cease your hovering.  I don’t bite.  Hard, anyway.”

 

Harry  _ feels _ Draco’s smirk seeping into his skin, sucking the blood eagerly from his veins before shooting southward.  He shifts his weight from side-to-side, clearing his throat before stepping forward and sliding (as gracefully as one can after two shots of firewhisky) onto the stool beside Draco, their fabric-covered knees brushing up against each other.

 

“I wish you would,” Harry whispers, more to himself than to Draco.

 

“Wish I would what?”

 

Harry stills.  Bloody hell, he said that out loud.  

 

“What?  I mean … er, nothing, Draco.”

 

Draco rolls his eyes, though a knowing smile plays at his lips.  Despite feeling rather warm, Draco’s expression sends a chill down Harry’s spine.

 

“Never thought I’d see you frequent this place -- oh, _Chosen One_.”

 

Harry sighs.  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

 

“Oh?” Draco asks, his eyes alight with mischief.  “What should I call you, then?”

 

“Just Harry.”

 

“Well, _just Harry_ , the night is young.”

 

“Too long,” Harry mumbles, nodding.

 

Draco raises an eyebrow before his tongue darts out, sweeping over his top lip, never tearing his eyes from Harry’s face.

 

“If you want something,” he whispers, leaning into Harry’s strong, war-ridden frame.  “You need only ask.”

 

Harry swallows, torn between meeting Draco halfway, tracing his fingers over his bottom lip, and jerking away abruptly, head hanging heavily as he walks toward the exit.

 

“I -- I can’t ask, Draco.”

 

“Mmmmm, you can’t?  Or you won’t?”

 

“Both,” Harry whimpers, covering his face with his palm.

 

Harry’s mortified.  He feels the moment regret clings to the nape of his neck, starved for blood.

 

The clink of coins against the wooden bartop shakes him out of his daze.

 

“Up you get.  We’re leaving.”  Draco’s tone is clipped, concise.  

 

Harry can’t move.  … Until Draco wraps a thin, steady hand around his forearm and pulls him toward the door.

 

“What the hell, Draco?”

 

“I told you, Harry,” he drawls, “we’re leaving.”

 

“But --”

 

“Shut it.  You’re going to tell me what you want.  Right now.  I know you.  You’re only this … _persistent_ when you want something.”

 

Harry tries to pull away, but Draco’s grip is unrelenting, almost possessive.  Harry’s cheeks flush once more, and Draco steps back.

 

“Out with it.”

 

Harry sighs, fixing his gaze on the cobblestone beneath their feet.

 

“I wish I held your attention like Blaise manages to,” he mumbles, toeing at the bits of gravel buried between the cracks.

 

A moment of silence passes between them, and then Draco is laughing, just like the young, self-righteous, third-year prat, though his voice is deeper, thick like honey.

 

Harry’s head snaps up and Draco releases his hold on Harry’s arm.

 

“Oh, Harry,”  Draco tsk’s, playfully.  “Blaise?  Honestly?  You’ve no clue he’s absolutely mad for Ginny, do you?”

 

“W-What?”  

 

“I said,” Draco sighs, settling himself into Harry’s space once more.  “Blaise is mad for Ginny.  As in, he’s straight as an arrow.  Now, anyway.  I suppose I ruined it for him.”

 

“Y-you?”

 

“Do pay attention.  You’re maddening, do you know that?”

 

“Sorry.  But then --”

 

“But what, Harry?”

 

Harry feels firewhisky’s jolt of courage surge through his veins and he knows.  It’s now or never.  

 

“I want you.  I mean, I have, for a while, for a long time, too long, actually -- but -- I always thought … you wanted someone else.”

 

“Eloquent as ever, I see.” Draco murmurs, though Harry sees the warm smile creep onto his lips.

 

“Mmmm, that’s me.”

 

A spark passes between them, its embers dying out before it disintegrates into the ground beneath their feet.

  
Harry tenses as Draco’s fingers trace his cheekbones, and suddenly, he’s leaning in, and Harry opens himself up, lays himself bare as if he was always meant to.


	6. Earned it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Dark Lord on the rise, Harry’s wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. Sirius offers advice but soon realizes that Harry has _other_ things on his mind.
> 
> **READ THE WARNING IN THE NOTES**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Underage!Harry, praise, voyeurism, masturbation. This is set during fifth year. If you don't like to read underage fics, don't read this. You've been warned.
> 
> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Harry has been staring at the ceiling for two hours.  He’s tossed, turned, and barely managed to dispel the cold sweat that threatened to burrow itself into his calloused palms and slither upward until his teeth began to chatter and he flung his quilt across the room.  He wishes he could chalk these sleepless nights up to Ron’s snoring and occasional whimpers of Hermione’s name, or his mind being flooded with the sounds of Neville’s heavy breathing and the subtle click of his tongue as his rolled to the side.  With a final eye roll and a frustrated sigh, he shifts his hips toward the right side of the bed, props himself up on his bony elbows and releases his legs from their invisible shackles of his sheets.  He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit, evenly distributing the sweat that threatens to creep down his forehead.  Holding his glasses between two fingers, he slides them on haphazardly before pushing the frames against the bridge of his nose and makes his descent to the common room.

The door is slightly ajar, which would normally send him into a panic, but tonight, he was too frustrated by what wasn’t happening to care.  With a flick of the wrist, the door shuts and locks silently behind him.  He shuffles over to the velvet upholstered settee and flops onto it, secretly hoping that the warmth of the room -- the muted crackling of the fire in front of him -- will lull him into a state of unconsciousness.

Harry smiles to himself, feeling the tension leave his body bit by bit, sucking in a breath as a single bead of sweat drops from his nape.  His eyes flutter closed just before the fire roars to life.

“Harry.” the voice hisses, urgently.

 “Mmmm, what s’it?”

“Look at me.”

  
Harry doesn’t want to look at Sirius.  Because looking at Sirius means coming to terms with this warped reality that he never even asked for.  He knows what’s going on, he’s able to decipher the silent pleas and warnings between Dumbledore words.  He knows this was inevitable.  More than once, he’s considered obliviating himself. How easy it would be.  A steady hand and the flick of a wrist.  Still, the loss remains too great.

Harry sighs, relenting to Sirius’s command, turning his head toward the fire.  It’s a sight he never expected.

Sirius’s cheeks are sharper than he remembers.  His neck is long and thin, which makes his adam’s apple all the more prominent -- it's perfectly curved and resting, almost heavily, against the soft flesh inside of his throat.  Dark stubble peppers his jawline.  Harry guesses it’s been roughly two weeks since he’s shaved.  The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, and his velvet robe, hanging loosely against his body, highlights the intricate black ink covering his chest and torso.

Not for the first time, Harry wonders what’s underneath it all.

He swallows, the frayed strings of uncertainty pulling at his tongue, though his mind is focused on nothing but the way Sirius is looking at him in this moment.  There’s something earnest in his gaze, but it’s thinly veiled by the dark, probing stare underneath.

Harry shifts, and suddenly it’s too warm.  He tugs at the neck of his heather gray t-shirt, only to find his skin slick with sweat.  His pulse has quickened considerably, despite the fact that Sirius has uttered nothing more.  He clenches his fists and wills himself to speak.

“What is it, Sirius?  Why are you here?”

“To warn you, Harry.  Though it seems, by that look in your eyes, and the tension crippling your shoulders, you’ve already been warned.”

“I know it’s only a matter of time.  I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.  I feel like I’m going mad.”

“You’re not mad, Harry.”

“You aren’t either.”

“Mmmm, debatable.”

The moment Sirius’s tongue darts out, running slowly across his top lip, and Harry catches that sparkle of something in his eye, he shivers.

“Harry,” he whispers, his voice ladened with longing.  “Relax, for now.  These things … they’re truly out of your control.”

“All these prophecies, this uncertainty, the secrets, and you tell me to relax?!  Really?  I know you’re all hiding something from me.  I can feel it.” 

Sirius leans forward, the fiery flames licking his cheek.  Though his eyes are narrowed, Harry would almost swear that Sirius’s robe was navy.  He remembered the way his eyes sparkled at 12 Grimmauld Place as they embraced.  How he longed for it now.

“Close your eyes.”

Sirius never issued commands, but there was something hidden in his voice, creeping along the surface of his tongue, that sent shivers down Harry’s spine.  With a heavy sigh, he succumbed to the darkness,

“Good, Harry.  Now, I need you to focus on my voice.  Can you do that?”

Harry nodded stiffly, his bottom lip pinned between his teeth, wrapped up in the sudden shift between them.  The air was thick, weighted with secrets that could only be acknowledged in the dark.  He wanted to drown in it.

“You’re --- perfect.”

Harry could feel himself blushing, his pulse throbbing steadily against his wrist.

He felt Sirius’s deep laugh all the way down to his toes, coating his muscles like honey, the echoes in the empty room vibrating his bones.  He shifted a little to the left, finally releasing his clenched fists.  His hands were shaking.

“Do you remember what I told you over Christmas, Harry?  I want you to focus on the light, now.  Be still.  Content.”

“Mmm.”  Harry all but whimpered, managing a weak nod.  “Content …”

“Find something inside yourself that’s easy as breathing.  Allow yourself to let go.  Relinquish control.”

Harry sucked in a breath and allowed his mind to linger on the last time he saw Sirius -- the way his gaze burned into Harry from the doorway of the dining room as if he’d unearthed all of Harry’s deepest desires.  His slow smile, full of warmth and a deep understanding that made Harry’s fingers tremble beneath the table.  The way his eyes sparkled in the dimly lit room -- the half-moons underneath them bowed in awe of their beauty.  Harry felt completely naked when Sirius looked at him like that -- and he longed to experience what it would feel like if he let Sirius just take.  He remembers jerking his gaze away, and the flush of desire that crept up his spine and settled onto his cheeks.

Without thinking, Harry licks his lips and gives in to the desire pooling in his stomach.

Despite his trembling fingers, he reaches down to cup himself through the fabric of his pyjama bottoms, hissing at the tiniest bit of contact.

“That’s it, Harry.  Give in.” 

Harry whimpers, swallowing thickly. 

“Keep going.  I know you want to.”

“Y-y-es.”  Harry breathes, biting back his fear.

“Shhh.  Don’t speak.  Just feel.”

Well past the point of patience, he lifts his hips off the settee, yanking his pyjama bottoms down past his thighs.  The sudden release overwhelms him, warm, sticky air clinging to his skin, drinking the blood from his veins.

His cock rests thickly against his stomach as blood pulses through it and a thin film of precome forms at the slit.  Desperate for a touch, he slides his index finger over the slit, whimpering at the feather-light sensation, his head clouded and dizzy with want.

“God, Harry.  Yes.  You’re so perfect.  Look at you.”  Sirius drawls, reverently.  Harry feels the frustration and desire in his voice.  “I wish --”

Harry nods, and takes himself into his hand, building a steady rhythm, desperate for release, but unwilling to leave this moment, this shared secret desire, behind.  He strokes himself slowly, focusing on the sounds echoing off of the walls -- his heavy breathing tangled with Sirius’s gasps.  Though Harry isn’t looking at him, he sees him perfectly -- dark curls caressing his cheeks, gray eyes studying Harry’s face as if he’s trying to etch him into memory -- in these moments and in the after.  Harry quickens his pace once he imagines Sirius settled between his legs -- strong, sure hands stroking him, murmurs of love and appreciation falling from his lips and bleeding into Harry’s skin.

“Harry.”  Sirius whispers, his voice dripping with warmth and a promise of protection. 

“A--again, Sirius. _P-p-please_.”  Harry whimpers, fighting to keep his shaking legs still.  He’s close and he knows it.

“Harry.  My _wonderful_ Harry.  Let go.  It’s okay.  Trust me.”

Harry’s back arches as he spills into his palm.  His thighs shake in the aftermath, his pulse pounding against his temple.

He swallows, thickly, shivering when he feels a cleaning charm wash over him.  As he turns to look at Sirius, he finds him smiling -- warm and open, his eyes sparkling, just as they had in the warmth of his room all those months ago.

“Sleep now.  You must know I will return for you.”

Harry nods before pulling his pyjamas up over his hips weakly.

Sirius’s smile was one that Harry would never forget.

For the first time in weeks, Harry felt content as he surrendered to the darkness once more.


	7. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Pansy touched Ginny, she knew she was done for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Pansy shivers as hot water sluices down her spine, surrounding her with the scent of honey and lavender. Tension vacates her shoulders, neck, and thighs reluctantly, rewarded with a breathy moan -- reminiscent of the sound she makes when Ginny finally spreads her open on their sheets, tongue licking tentatively at her clit.  

Ginny’s face comes alive behind Pansy’s eyes as her long, dark lashes brush against the half-moons underneath.  The fiery red hair, the patch of light brown freckles hidden beneath the top layer of pale skin that Pansy can only make out if the light illuminates her cheekbones just so.  Her slow, seductive smile in the dark before she licks into Pansy’s mouth -- a mix of desperation and tenderness that’s unlike anything she’s ever felt.

It’s been seven days since she watched Ginny fling her duffle bag over her shoulder and her free hand curl around the door handle.  On the surface, her eyes sparkled with excitement, though if Pansy studied her long enough, she could make out the bits and pieces of regret that threatened to undo her in the night.

“Stop looking at me like that, Pans.  You _know_ I’m coming back.”

“You always do.”  
  
Ginny nods, and the smile she offers Pansy reaches her eyes.  She lingers a moment more, and then Pansy’s world is devoid of color.

Pansy’s fingers close around her dark strands, forcing the excess water to the porcelain floor beneath her feet.  Cold droplets slither down her back, and her eyes snap open.  She sighs. _Just a few more hours to go._

She shuffles out of the bathroom wrapped in an ivory towel, running her index finger over her lips.  The setting sun streams through the window, its open mouth latching onto her shoulder blades, reigniting the fire she feels each time Ginny presses against her.

Her cheeks are flushed and the sweet taste of wine lingers on her tongue as the front door opens, a stream of moonlight pouring in.  One look at Ginny’s face and Pansy feels the resurrection of their cozy flat, pumping blood into the walls that hold and carry their whispers in the room once more.

“ _Pansy_ ,” Ginny murmurs, ignoring the heavy thud of her bags as they fall to the floor.

“Hello darling,” Pansy drawls, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  She’s perched on the stool in nothing but her bra and underwear.

“ _God._  You’re perfect.  I -- I want --”

“Get over here, then.”

Pansy watches intently as Ginny strides across the living room and into the kitchen -- her steps long and hurried, though it looks as if she’s bending time and space to her will.

Pansy shifts on the stool, angling her body toward Ginny, who is stilled in front of her — hands trembling.  Pansy looks her up and down, biting her lip.  The predatory look in her eyes draws a moan from Ginny’s lips.

“ _Fuck._  Too long, Gin.”  
  
Ginny’s cheeks are flushed.  Pansy swats Ginny’s hands away as they reach for her.  
  
“ _No._  I’m taking care of you tonight.”

Ginny whimpers, her breath hitching as Pansy runs her fingers up and down her ribs.  Her skin is on fire and it’s exactly what Pansy needs.

“Pans,” Ginny whispers, “ _please_.”

Pansy hums, pulling Ginny’s hips forward so that she’s settled between her legs.  She smiles as Ginny shivers.

“Thought of me, did you?”

“Mmmmm, all — the — time.”

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches Ginny squeeze her eyes shut, likely willing herself to maintain some sense of control.

“Let’s see then, shall we?”

Ginny nods fiercely, biting her lip.

Pansy makes quick work of unbuttoning Ginny’s jeans, hooking her fingers in the belt loops and pulling them down in one swift motion.  Her hands settle on Ginny’s hips, nails digging lightly into her pale flesh.

“Fuck. _Look at you._  Missed this.  Missed you.  So much,”  Pansy whispers against Ginny’s skin.

“Mmmmph,” Ginny whimpers.

Pansy lowers her hands to rest against Ginny’s thighs, trembling at her touch.  She smiles slowly as her eyes darken -- finally surrendering to her desires.

The moment Pansy’s thumb brushes against Ginny’s clit, Ginny hisses, and Pansy feels the tremor that shoots through her body -- torn between shifting her hips forward or pulling out of Pansy’s grasp completely.

“Ginny, love,” she murmurs, “let me give this to you.  Take it.”

“P-p-please, Pans.  N-n-eed this now.”

“Shhh, I know.”

Pansy releases her grip on Ginny’s hip, kissing her navel, freeing her from the torturous fabric that conceals their desire.

She slides off of the stool, lowering to her knees, and positions her face between Ginny’s legs. Instinctively, Ginny opens for her, the sound of her ragged breaths echoing off the walls in the room.

Pansy spreads Ginny’s lips apart and mouths at her clit, moving in slow circles around the swollen bud, pulling away every so often, blowing light puffs of air against the sensitive flesh.

Soon, Ginny’s writhing above her, sweet juices flowing freely down the inside of her thigh.  Pansy’s mouth closes around the flesh, sucking every last drop that threatens to settle there, before moving underneath Ginny once more and sliding a finger, then two, into her with ease.

Not that Pansy would ever admit it, but on her knees underneath Ginny, taking everything she’s willing to give, makes her feel more alive, more powerful than ever.  Like a force to be reckoned with.

“Pans -- _fuck_ \-- I can’t --” Ginny breathes, her voice is strained and Pansy knows she’s close.  She can feel it in every throb of her clit against her tongue, heavy and aching.

Ginny’s quiet when she comes, though her body shudders against Pansy’s touch, her face and neck are flushed, and strands of her fiery red hair are stuck to her temples, slick with sweat.

Pansy gives her what she needs, even after, allowing her breathing to even out before her hands settle on Ginny’s hips once more and she pulls herself up, flush against Ginny’s body.  She leans forward and presses her lips to Ginny’s, reveling in the sound she makes as Ginny tastes herself inside Pansy’s mouth.  It sends a chill down her spine.  Even still.

This time, It’s Ginny who pulls away first, though she’s still close enough to press her forehead against Pansy’s.

“You’re brilliant.  Do you know that?”

Pansy laughs, trying not to lose herself in the deep colors reflecting in Ginny’s eyes.

“ _Of course_.  That’s why you fell for me, remember?”

Now it’s Ginny’s turn to laugh, and the smile that Pansy receives is enough to make her heart stop.

“Welcome home, darling.”


	8. I see you around in all these empty faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus keeps turning up at the greenhouse, leaving Neville wondering why (and all hot and bothered).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and are meant to stand alone.

Neville stands in greenhouse three as the sun beats down on him through the foggy windows.  His round, short nails are caked with dirt, and a single bead of sweat threatens to drop into his wide eyes, cooing softly at the inevitable sting.  He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, his shoulders tense as someone knocks on the glass outside.

 

He sighs and steps forward, rubbing his hands together to keep himself occupied.  He’d recognize that tall, lean silhouette anywhere.  Even in the dark.  He inhales deeply before releasing a shaky breath and opens the door.

 

“Remus,” Neville murmurs, resting a palm on his cheek.

 

“Hello, Neville.”

 

“What brings you here?”

 

“Just roaming about.  Thought I’d stop by.”  Remus confesses, the liveliness in his voice unmistakable.

 

“Roaming about?”  Neville asks, curiously, before rolling his eyes.  A smile creeps onto the corners of his lips.

 

“Indeed.  You should try it sometime.  You’d be amazed at the things you discover.”

 

Remus’s eyes were pinned to Neville’s lips, his eyes alight with a mischief Neville had only dreamed about.

 

“You’ve got a bit of ---” Remus begins before his fingers swipe across Neville’s left cheek, slow and heavy, his intent unmistakable.  “Dirt, just there.”

 

Neville shivers, and Remus answers him with a dangerously suggestive smirk.

 

“T-thanks,” Neville stutters, unwilling to meet the older man’s piercing gaze.  He tugs at his apron, then his shirt collar, desperate for a distraction.

 

“The pleasure is mine, Neville.”

 

Neville swallows, palms clenched at his sides.  “Don’t.  Please.”

 

Remus steps to Neville, closing the inches between them.

 

“That’s quite odd ...  because the heavy thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of the blood surging through your veins tells me differently.  I can feel it, Neville.  I can practically ---” Remus cuts himself off with a sharp inhale.  His eyes flutter closed, tongue running over his bottom lip.  “Taste it.”

 

Neville longs to release the moan chained inside his mouth.  He wants this, more than anything.  Wants to drop to his knees and taste Remus on his tongue, to push him so close to the edge that whispers of Neville’s name, and ‘Merlin, please’ tumble from his lips and seep into Neville’s skin.  

 

And yet.

 

He jerks back, nearly falling to the ground, his lower back digging into the corner of his worktable.

 

He sighs.

 

“You don’t want me, Remus.  Only what I can offer you.  I know you only visit for the antidotes.  There’s no need to feign interest, really.”

 

“Are you mad?  If that’s what you think --”  Remus murmurs, pushing his body flush against Neville’s, planting his palms on the wooden worktable, trapping Neville’s hips.  “Then you’ve misjudged me.  Horribly.”

 

Panic flashes across Neville’s face, and his cheeks flush.  His palms are slick and his mouth is dry.  He knows he has to speak, and he’s never been a very convincing liar.

 

“It’s just --” he pauses, gaze fixed on the greenhouse floor.  The next words out of his mouth are barely a whisper.  “It took you forever to notice me … I wondered if I was invisible.”

 

“Oh, Neville,”  Remus whispers ruefully.  “You were never invisible.  I did notice you, but --”

 

“But Harry.  Right.”

 

“Not just that.”

 

Neville shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“Look at me.” Remus commands, his voice firm, dripping with warmth.

 

Neville opens his eyes reluctantly, raising his gaze, his breath hitching when Remus tilts his chin upward.

 

“I see you.  I always have.  And I don’t ‘drop by’ solely to obtain antidotes.”

 

“Why do you?  Stop by, I mean.”

 

Remus smiles at him, and it’s a revelation.  He leans forward, pressing his hips against Neville, capturing his lips in a deep kiss -- swallowing the moan that escapes Neville’s mouth.

 

Neville pushes himself into Remus’s thin frame, hands grasping at the knit fabric of his sweater.  Remus laughs into Neville’s mouth and nudges his thighs apart with a knee.

 

Neville stills, releasing Remus from his death-grip.  

 

“Does that answer your question?”

 

“Mmmm, I think so.”

 

“You’re brilliant, you know.”

 

Neville blushes.

 

“Let me show you -- help you -- for once.”

 

“But I don’t need --”

 

“Yes, Neville.  You do.”  Remus purrs, licking his lips before dropping to his knees.

 

“O-oh.”

 

Remus laughs breathlessly.  Without tearing his eyes from Neville’s face, he slides a hand underneath Neville’s apron, artfully unzipping his trousers, before wrapping a firm hand around his cock.

 

Neville hisses, his eyes falling shut of their own accord.

 

“Merlin, you …”

 

“Just relax, Neville.  I’ve got you.  Going to make you feel so …”  Remus swallows, his voice strained.  “Good.”

 

Neville whimpers, sinking down slowly until his hand rests against the back of Remus’s neck.

 

Remus develops a rhythm, stroking Neville’s cock just the way he knows he needs -- quick, quick, slow -- before darting his tongue out to lick the tip.

 

“Ahhhh, bloody fuck, Remus, please.”

 

“God, listen to you.  So dirty -- and yet, you say please.  Such a good boy, Neville.”

 

“Nnnngh, yes.  Please.”

 

Remus laughs, warm and slow like honey, before taking Neville into his mouth.

 

Neville’s body goes rigid, his breath hitches once … twice.  Then, he’s fucking Remus’s mouth, a swirl of need pooling in his abdomen, beads of sweat slithering down his spine.  His thighs begin to tremble.  He squeezes his eyes shut.

 

Remus pulls off of him, slowly, tongue lapping at his slit.  Neville shivers.

 

“Don’t take your eyes off of me, Neville.  I want you to watch me make you come.”

 

Neville nods, swallowing once before he wills his eyes to open.

 

Remus swallows him down once more, his lips slick with saliva, light brown hair kissing his lashes.  He hums around Neville’s cock, urging him closer to the edge.

 

Neville’s moans echo off the windows of the greenhouse, thighs shaking as his balls draw up, spilling his release down Remus’s throat.

 

Remus takes it all, his eyes ablaze with want, pulling slowly off of Neville’s still twitching cock.

 

“Remus …” Neville breathes, hands shaking at his sides.

 

“Don’t.  Next time.  I bet you look so good on your knees.”

 

Neville blushes, pulling Remus up to him, whimpering at the taste of himself.  He runs his fingers through Remus’s sweat-soaked fringe, eventually moving downward, caressing his cheek.

 

“... And in a bed.”  Neville teases, smiling.


	9. In the pocket of my blue jeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to seducing Draco, Harry figures that he should have been sorted into Slytherin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All of these are meant to stand alone.

Harry’s wand begins its backward descent to his chest as he inhales deeply, gazing up at the stars.  Summer’s sticky-sweet scent surrounds him, a thin layer of sweat clings to his skin, drinking from his shallow pools of flesh where cuts and bruises lay.  Beside him, Draco whimpers, his forearm falling over his eyes, white-blond hair sticking to his temples.

“Come on, Draco.  There’s no need to be so … _finicky_.  It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, of course not, Harry.  What could I possibly love more than laying with you under the stars?”  Draco replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“I can think of a few things, actually.”

Draco’s cheeks flush as he thumbs underneath his t-shirt, exposing his abdomen.

“It’s quite possible, Harry Potter, that you are a true Slytherin at heart.”

“Mmmm.  Only when it comes to you.”

Draco clutches his chest with both hands.  “Oh, I’m touched!”  He laughs openly before curving his lips into a smile.

Harry shifts onto his side, his hand reaching for Draco’s exposed abdomen.  He runs his fingers up and down the patch of pale skin in a steady rhythm, his hands heavy with intent, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Draco shivers before turning his head to look at Harry, his eyes dangerously dark and promising.  Draco licks his lips.

“Harry,” he murmurs, resting his palm against the dark stubble lining Harry’s jaw.  “We should go inside.”

“And here I thought you were the exhibitionist.”  Harry teases, leaning forward, his lips ghosting over Draco’s earlobe.  “Live a little, yeah?”

Draco whimpers, his eyes fluttering closed.  “Mmm -- Harry.  No.”

Harry sighs, pulling himself from Draco, hands resting atop his wand once more.  He feels the moment his magic washes over them, it’s warm and familiar scent unfurling the tight knot in his chest.  It feels like Draco.  A moment passes between them, suspended high in the air, in the center of the Quidditch Pitch, and Harry feels like he can breathe again.

“Happy now?”

“Did you just --?”

“ _Yes_ , Draco.  Disillusionment and silencing charms.”

“A bit presumptuous, aren’t we?”

Harry lets out a loud laugh.

“Merlin, stop being such a bloody --”

Harry blinks in surprise, unable to finish his sentence with Draco straddling his hips and looking down at him like he’s in need of a good roughing-up.

“You were saying?”

Harry swallows, his neck and cheeks flushing a vibrant shade of pink.  He’d forgotten how bloody good it feels to be pinned underneath Draco like this, his breath hitching at the slightest twitch of his cock, brushing against Draco’s inner thigh.

“Nnnngh, Draco.  Enough.  Talking.”

“Thank fuck.  Wasn’t sure how much more of your attitude I’d have to endure.”

“Oh, shut it.  Are you just going to straddle me or fuck me into oblivion?”

“The latter, of course.”

Draco lifts himself from Harry’s hips, inching up his body before their mouths come crashing together.  Harry opens for Draco immediately, soft moans passed between them as Draco explores every corner and crevice of Harry’s mouth with his tongue before swallowing down his gasps.

Harry angles his hips and thrusts upward, shivering as he grazes Draco’s hardening cock.  One more thrust and he feels like he could come through the fabric of his trousers.

“Merlin,” Draco pants, “I always knew you were greedy.”

Harry laughs against Draco’s mouth, the vibration sending a chill down Draco’s spine.

“Up, you.”

Draco lifts himself from Harry, discarding his t-shirt haphazardly in the dirt beside them.

Harry’s propped up on his elbows, ogling Draco, his eyes bright and swimming with lust.

Draco’s brow furrows before he’s pushing his trousers past his thighs.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

“I’m just … admiring the view.”

“You can admire _this_ view,” Draco gestures to himself, “anytime, Harry.  Truly.  But right now, you need to focus.  I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll feel it for a week.”

Harry whimpers, sitting up further and yanking his t-shirt over his head, knocking his glasses askew.  He feels Draco’s trembling fingers working at the button of his jeans as he goes to remove his glasses.

Draco’s head snaps up and he swats Harry’s hands away.  “No.  Leave them.”

“Insufferable, you are.”

“No, but I can make you suffer, Harry Potter.”

“You wish.”

“Oh,” Draco laughs deeply, his eyes sharp.  “I never wish. _I know_.”


	10. I only know him in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise knows he should let it go, but he _needs_ Draco, in whatever way he can have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All of these are meant to be read as stand-alone pieces.

Moonlight rests against Blaise’s cheekbone tentatively before stretching itself thin, unable to resist the allure of citrus kissing his skin.  The sound of ascending footsteps taunts him, flaunting their teeth before tearing into his wrists, lapping at the droplets of blood that bubble up in the darkness.

He closes his eyes, waiting for the initial prick of pain to subside.  He knows it’s only a matter of time.  He inhales, reveling in the way his chest expands, though the air inside burns to the point of aching.

_Thud._

And so it begins.

Harry laughs as Draco surges forward, clutching the fabric of his white button-down in between his long, thin fingers.  For a moment, it’s quiet.  Then Harry moans, though it’s muffled, and Blaise can feel Draco’s throat working as he swallows it down, the key to his survival -- the promise of his resurrection.  He bites back the whimper that threatens to tumble from his mouth.  How easy it would be to give in.

“Harry,” Draco murmurs, his voice echoing off the cobblestones on the opposite side of the wall like sweet honey filling the caverns in his mouth.  And yet, it’s more.  A benediction.  Blaise shouldn’t want this.  Shouldn’t palm himself through his trousers at the mere sound of Draco whispering another man’s name.  But he needs it -- needs to clutch that last bit of frayed thread between his fingers.  It shouldn’t sustain him.  And yet.

Blaise licks his lips at the sound of Harry’s ragged breathing.  Harry’s close, but Blaise knows he’ll wait -- because there’s nothing he enjoys more than taking Draco to bed _properly_.  

The creaking door pulls Blaise from his haze.  He knows it’s Draco pulling Harry along because the door shuts softly.  Even in his haste, Draco manages to do everything with a quiet confidence, a precision that Blaise wants to drown in.

Blaise sinks down the wall, his body puddling beneath the floor.  He brings his knees up to his chest and waits with bated breath and parted lips.

They manage to make it to the edge of the bed before Harry pulls at the fabric of Draco’s shirt, freeing it from his waistband.

“Fucking belts,” Harry whimpers, his trembling hands settled on Draco’s hips.

“ _Merlin_ , stay still.  Let me.” Draco murmurs.  “You’re incredibly hot when you’re flushed and eager.”

Blaise feels Draco’s smile surge through his body, igniting a spark that makes his toes curl beneath his oxfords.  He bites his tongue until he tastes a thin stream of blood and swallows, wincing.

Harry’s breathy chuckle hangs over them before it bends, mouthing at patches of bare skin, sucking the day’s tension from their bodies.

If only Blaise could step between them and settle there.  He imagines licking Draco’s exposed neck, sucking lightly at his adam’s apple, the soft hum of approval vibrating against his lips.  His cock twitches beneath the fabric of his trousers.  The steady tingle settling on his spine makes him dizzy.

Their whimpers -- tangled with the sounds of clothing being discarded -- drives Blaise to divest himself of his shirt, and he makes quick work of unbuttoning his trousers, careful not to make a sound.

“Draco,” Harry moans, “ _Please._ ”

“Tsk, tsk,” Draco hisses.  “Not tonight, Harry.  Tonight, I’m going to take my time.  I want to watch you as you fall apart -- to feel you writhe underneath me as I push you closer to the edge.  I want to swallow your moans and taste the sweat that beads on your skin.  I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing all these years.  And trust that I’ll feel victorious when you’re cursing yourself because you _resisted_ me.”

The promise, seductive and dangerous, makes Blaise touch himself.  He jaw clenches and he shivers, eyes fluttering closed.  His cock is hard and leaking as he runs two fingers over the slit, coating them.  He loves the thrill that accompanies watching Draco hover above Harry, golden blond strands slick with sweat licking at his temple.  He wraps his hand around the length as he strokes himself slowly, shivering at the ease of it all.  He’s desperate to stave off his impending orgasm for as long as he can.  He wants to make this last, to bottle up these moments and watch as they come to life in the Pensieve.  A deep-rooted longing for more.  He never stood a chance against the Chosen One.  The realization hits him like a bludger to the gut, but as he watches Draco ease Harry back against the pillow, he can’t help but admire the sheer eroticism, the intimate desire of it all.

“Look at me, Harry.  I know you want to fight it -- but don’t.  Let me see you.”

“Draco, I …”

“I’m going to take care of you.  Just trust me.”

Blaise watches Harry nod, feeling the moment the tension vacates his shoulders.  The air shifts in the room, heavy with an intimacy that makes Blaise ache, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.  He bites his lip and continues to stroke himself, though his pace is more hurried, his breaths stilted and erratic.

Draco tears his eyes from Harry’s face, and he’s _searching._  Blaise feels the blood pumping through his veins, pulse throbbing beneath his dark skin.  He fixes his eyes on Draco’s gaze, and a soft whimper escapes his lips.

Draco sighs knowingly.

“If you’re going to indulge, _Blaise_ ,” he drawls, a smirk painted on his lips.  “You may as well have a proper view.”

Draco wags his finger, motioning for Blaise to take a seat on the rug in front of the four-poster bed.

Harry’s body goes rigid underneath him.

“Harry.  There’s only you.  It’s always been you.”

Harry swallows and starts to speak, but Draco cuts him off, nudging Harry’s lips apart with his tongue.  He feels himself relax as Harry opens for him, eagerly, conveying everything he needs to -- wants to -- wordlessly.


	11. Let me know the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of sleeping together, Luna begins to notice a change in Pansy, even if she refuses to acknowledge it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. A [_Looking for Magic_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10824315/chapters/24019101) sequel of sorts.

“ _Pansy_ ,” Luna sing-songs, running her pale fingers through Pansy’s dark hair.

“Mmph,” Pansy mutters, clutching her pillow.  “Whatever it is, Lovegood, the answer is no.”

Luna leans forward, her lips pressed against Pansy’s ear.  “You’re certain?”

Pansy hums, shivering as strands of Luna’s golden-blond hair kiss her shoulders.  Her skin is on fire.  A whimper escapes her lips.  Luna’s nothing if not persistent.

She turns on her side, pulling the wrinkled sheet tightly against her body.

“Make it quick, will you?”  Pansy murmurs, her words followed by a heavy sigh.  She seems irritated, but Luna knows better.  Pansy’s indulging her, thawing before her eyes.

“I don’t know.  I rather enjoy taking things slow,” Luna confesses, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth, welcoming the rose flush that colors her cheeks.

Pansy laughs, the corners of her lips turning upward.

“Why, Lovegood, I never expected you to be so …”

“Cheeky?”

“ _Intense_.”

“Mmmm, I see,” Luna whispers, peppering Pansy’s lips with chaste kisses.  “You’ve quite a lot to discover about me.”

It doesn’t take long for Pansy to relinquish control -- her body pliant against Luna’s, muscles loosening beneath the ribbons of sunlight they’re bathed in.

The taste of honeysuckle is sweet on Pansy’s lips as Luna pulls away, reminiscent of the Manor gardens in the summer, hidden in the tall grass beside Draco, her pale legs outstretched as the wind mouthed at the curve of her ankles.

Luna’s chilly toes brush against Pansy’s calf, yanking her from her reverie.

“For the love of Merlin,” Pansy hisses, jerking from Luna’s touch.  “keep your freezing toes off of me.”

Luna laughs.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve legs for days?”

“Blaise.”  Pansy deadpans, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“I’m certain he was an admirer of yours at one point.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The better question is, who _wouldn’t_ be infatuated with you?”

Color floods Pansy’s cheeks.  She stills for a moment, then opens her mouth to speak.  She wants to make a quip about Luna’s honesty and bravery, but the words catch in her throat.  She blinks, attempting to will the dizziness that floods her mind away.

Luna’s tentative caress against Pansy’s cheek brings her back to the present.

“ _Luna_ ,” she whispers, dropping her gaze, focusing on the wrinkled gray sheets beneath them.  “We can’t do this.”

“Oh, Pansy.  Don’t you see?  This began weeks ago.”

“I know.  I was there.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“You may not have realized it, then, but _this_ ,” she chimes, her voice airy and melodic as she points to the empty space between the two of them. “Changed the moment you let me in.  The moment your lips parted and I pushed my way in, swallowing the whimper that escaped your throat.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lovegood.  You’re forgetting a crucial thing.”

“Mmmm?”

“Control.”

Luna smiles knowingly, though something flashes in her eyes -- the spark of disappointment.

“Would it be so terrible, really?”

“What?”

“Just lying here, looking at each other’s faces, being happy that we’re together.”

“It sounds --”  Pansy shifts, her abdomen pressed against the invisible barrier between them, though her legs remain tangled with Luna’s -- cold toes and all.  “Like a fantasy.”

Luna sighs and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against Pansy’s forehead before she retreats.

The puzzled look in Pansy’s eyes is the last thing Luna allows herself to see before she closes her eyes, settling into the warmth of sun’s embrace.


	12. We were just kids when we fell in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius is fascinated with butterflies and flying. Draco can’t figure out why. (A ficlet in which Draco learns that Scorpius is every bit his son.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All of these pieces are meant to stand alone.

“Daddy,” Scorpius murmurs, tugging on Draco’s hand.  Draco stills and looks down at him, his light gray eyes sparkling against the sunrise.  He smiles, pushing a strand of Scorpius’s white-blond hair aside.  “When butterflies are in love, do they get humans in their tummy?”

Draco laughs, kneeling down onto the cobblestone street, resting his palm against Scorpius’s cheek, kissed by the autumn air.  “I can’t say, Scorp.  You’ve got the expression completely upside down.”

“ _I already told you, daddy,_ ” Scorpius repeats, huffing.  “It’s the butterflies.  I can’t see them, but I know they’re here.  I feel them.  Can’t you?”

Draco pulls Scorpius close to him.  “I -- I used to.”

“For mum, right?”

Draco swallows hard, shutting his eyes.

“Of course, for mum.”

“Anyone else?”

Draco sighs, willing himself not to think of the last time piercing green eyes caught his gaze at the Ministry function.  A slight tilt of the head, a single strand of dark fringe falling against his temple as he pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose and stepped out onto the terrace, keeping the moon company.

He releases Scorpius from his grasp and shakes his head before rising to greet the clouds above him once more.

As they walk the cobblestone streets hand in hand, Scorpius digging his round nails into Draco’s palm, captivated by each window display, Draco feels the tension unravel from his shoulders.  The crisp autumn air mouths at his cheekbones and he’s reminded of the child he used to be -- longing to surrender to adventure’s whisper, flying through the clouds on his broom, fingers outstretched, reaching for the shiny golden marble that resembled a snitch.

While he’s been caught in the heady pleasure of reminiscing, Scorpius has walked to the opposite side of the street and his forehead is pressed against a windowpane.

“Daddy!  Look!”

Draco’s breath hitches and suddenly he’s behind Scorpius, gripping his shoulders forcefully.

“Merlin, Scorpius!  Don’t walk away from me, do you understand?  You could’ve gotten lost.”

“But, I only walked across the street.”

“Be that as it may, you can’t just go as you please.”

Scorpius sighs and hangs his head.

“Yes, Father.”

Draco cringes.  It’s like looking in a mirror, and he’s never felt more like Lucius in this moment.

“I’m not mad, Scorp.  You just scared me, okay?  You’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Draco runs his fingers through Scorpius’s hair and smiles when Scorpius lets out a whine.

“ _Daaaaaaad_.  Stop.  And if you lost me, mum’s ghost would haunt you in your sleep.”

Draco chuckles.  “Right you are.  Are you just going to stand there with your forehead pressed against the glass, or would you like to go inside?”

The look Draco receives as Scorpius turns around reminds him that despite what he may think, he will never be like his father.

  
“I’m sorry, but we don’t open for another --”

Draco swallows, a heavy blush flooding his cheeks.

“Hi.  I know you’re not technically open but --”

Scorpius lets go of Draco’s hand and meets Harry’s eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Harry!  Sorry about my dad.  I think he has the butterflies in his stomach.”

Harry crouches down so that he’s nose-to-nose with Scorpius, his lips curling upward at the corners.

“Butterflies, you say?”

“Yeah.  I asked him if he had them for mum.  And he said yes. _But then I asked him --_ ”

“All right, Scorp.  That’s quite enough.  I’m sure Mr. Harry has lots of things to do.”

“Actually …” Harry starts, rising from the floor and pushing his glasses against the bridge of his nose.  “I’d like to hear the rest of it.”  He whispers, slowly meeting Draco’s gaze.

 

Draco shakes his head, though he’s smirking at sunlight’s reflection in Harry’s glasses.

“Do you remember that day?” Harry asks, shuffling his feet across the chilly bathroom tile.  He wraps his arms around Draco’s torso, smiling against bare skin.

“How could I not?  That’s the day I learned that Scorpius has a big mouth.”  Draco scoffs, though there’s an undertone of amusement in his voice.

“I wonder where he got that from?”

“Certainly not me.”

Harry laughs, the vibration settling against Draco’s spine, its thin strings mouthing at his shoulder blades.  “You’re joking, right?”

“Keep this up, and you’ll be showering on your own this morning.”

“Fine,” Harry teases, “Though I wouldn’t mind in the least if you watched.  Could be really hot.”

“You’re insufferable, do you know that?”

“Mmmmm,” Harry hums, surprised when Draco frees himself from his grasp.  His breath hitches as Draco digs his fingers into his hips and presses himself up against Harry’s body.  “Seems like you don’t --”

Harry whimpers as Draco’s lips brush his, willing himself to finish his sentence.  “... mind much.”

“What I mind, Harry -- is not being able to take you to bed -- properly.”

“Draco …” Harry whispers, pressing his forehead to Draco’s.  “It’s not that I don’t want to.  Because believe me, I do.  But … I -- I’ve never --”

“Shhhh.  Say no more.  Contrary to popular belief, I’m quite the patient man these days.”

Harry laughs, offering Draco a soft smile before kissing him once more.

 

As the days grow shorter and the autumn breeze pushes them apart, levitating corpses beneath piles of newly fallen leaves, the knots in Draco’s chest become more intricately wound.  The rapid, steady flutter of the butterflies in his stomach slow, no longer able to fill the silence that surrounds him.

It’s Harry’s knock at his door, two days later, that pulls him from isolation’s clutches.

“Hi,” he murmurs, shoving his hands in his corduroy pockets, tentatively meeting Draco’s gaze.  His bright eyes holding the promise of spring against dusk’s backdrop.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, unable to do anything except step aside.  The room feels warmer somehow.  His pulse thuds beneath his wrist.

“Is Scorpius here?”

“Not yet.  Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to um,” Harry begins, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth.  “See if I could take him flying?”

The question hangs heavily in the air, like the sharp blade of a brand new knife, waiting for the right moment to sink its teeth into every living thing that remains.

“Flying?”

Harry nods.

“You’d come along, of course.  I mean, obviously.”

Draco swallows.

Harry fidgets, briefly, before he speaks again.  “Oh, god.  Nevermind.  It was a stupid idea.  I should -- I should go.”

Harry takes two steps toward the door before Draco’s hand wraps around his forearm.

“Stay.  Please.  I’ll --”  Draco pauses, lifting Harry’s chin with his fingers.  “I’ll talk to Scorpius.  If he wants to do it, we’ll do it.”

“Yeah?”  Harry asks, his eyes bright and hopeful.

Draco nods, pulling Harry close.  This time, when Harry opens for him, Draco realizes that _this_ is as easy as breathing.

 

“Getting caught in a bloody rainstorm is not how I envisioned our first flying lesson to go.  What a disaster.” Harry confesses, the frustration evident in his voice.

“Oh, come off it.  It wasn’t a total loss.”

“How so?”

“Look at us.  We may as well be naked.”

Harry swallows, color flooding his cheeks.  He inhales and the room goes dark.  For a moment, everything is still.  On his exhale, subtle flames lick the shadows of their faces.

“Did you just -- ?”

Harry nods.

“ _Merlin,_ ” Draco breathes, startled at the resurrection of the butterflies in his stomach.

“Come here.”

As much as Draco hates commands, he obeys this one.  Eagerly.

“Draco,” Harry whispers.  His hair smells like crisp autumn rain and broom polish.  Draco breathes him in.  “Please.”

“Harry,” Draco starts, his voice tentative, laced with want.  “I want you to be sure.”

“It’s you.  It always has been.”

Draco clutches the soaked fabric of Harry’s t-shirt, pushing him back against the wall.

Before Harry can protest, Draco’s mouth is on his, and it’s more intimate than a Legilimens.  Draco’s secrets fall onto Harry’s tongue and dissolve into his flesh.

Harry moans, his fingers shaking against Draco’s hips.

“Don’t be afraid, Harry.  I’ve got you.”

 

As dawn breaks on the horizon, Draco settles against Harry’s chest and smiles at the feeling of butterflies resting against his ribs, the rhythm of their wings mirroring his pulse -- slow, steady, constant.

Sated, his eyes flutter closed and he dreams.


	13. Wherever I go, you'll bring me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna’s always loved a challenge, but she quickly comes to find that she loves it when Hermione gives in to her even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Each of these chapters are meant to be read as stand alone pieces.

Luna yawns, her hands reaching upward toward the painted ceiling of the Ravenclaw common room.  Slowly, she settles back on the rug, closing her eyes, her blonde waves cascading outward.  The sound of pages turning echoes off of the walls.

“Won’t you take a break, Hermione?  We’ve been reading all afternoon, you know.”

Hermione sighs, and Luna can feel the tension clinging to her tongue before she even speaks.  “Yes, I know, but I’ve _got_ to finish compiling research for the eighth-year mentor program.  McGonagall wants an update, and I've hardly got anything at the moment.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll finish in time.  I’m certain it will be lovely.”

“How can you be so -- _calm_ at a time like this?”

“Dad always said that when things are meant to be, the universe conspires to make them happen.  This is no exception.”

For the first time that afternoon, Hermione lifts her gaze from her book and smiles warmly at Luna.  Luna returns the smile easily, making Hermione blush.

“Let’s go, just for a while.  Yes?”

Hermione’s lip is pinned between her teeth, and she nibbles on the center.  Silence passes between them.

“All right.  Just for a little while.”

Sitting up, Luna grins, and when she looks at Hermione, there’s a sparkle of mischief in her eye.

The moment they reach the Whomping Willow, Luna stills, strands of her hair blowing in the breeze.  The subtle hint of summer seduces the air that surrounds them.

“Here?  But -- we shouldn’t.”

“Nonsense, Hermione.  Live a little.”

This time, when Luna smiles, Hermione’s breath catches in her throat as she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You need to relax.”

“I can’t.  I’ve got too much --”

“Shhh,” Luna whispers pressed up against the curve of Hermione’s back.  Her breath ghosts against Hermione’s neck.  She smells like mangos with a hint of cinnamon -- familiar, surprising.

“Luna …” Hermione whimpers, fists clenched at her sides, desire’s manipulative touch wrapping its hands around her throat.

“What is it, darling?”

“You … planned … this.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think …” Hermione starts, then gasps as Luna’s hands wrap around her torso, her fingers snaking underneath the knit fabric of her shirt.  “Mmmmph, your hands are like ice.”

“Apologies, love.  You were saying?”

“You know exactly what you’re -- _mmmm_.”  Hermione moans as Luna mouths at the flesh on the back of her neck, sucking lightly at the nape as if she’s intent on extracting the tension from her body.  “Doing.” Hermione manages before her eyes flutter closed and her breathing become erratic.

“Of course I do.  Now,” Luna whispers, placing her hands atop Hermione’s shoulders.  “Close your eyes.  Trust me to guide you.  Can you do that?”

Hermione nods.

Suddenly, the air around them changes, and Hermione shivers.

“You’re doing so well.  I always knew you would be good for me,” Luna murmurs, sliding her hands downward before settling against Hermione’s hips.

“Keep your eyes closed.  You’re almost there.”

Luna turns Hermione around gently, easing her backward until her spine is pressed up against the whomping willow.  She smiles gratefully, reveling in the offer of privacy nature provides.

“Hermione,” Luna drawls, the name falling from her tongue like the most sacred of prayers.  “Look at me.”

Hermione opens her eyes, blinking rapidly and exhales, freeing her lungs of the sharp burn that threatened their collapse.

“What in Merlin’s name are we doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Hermione blushes.

“I must say, this is quite … _different_.”

“Indeed, but at least now I can say that reality is better than my dreams.”

Luna shivers at the sensation of Hermione’s hand against her cheek.

“Have you really dreamt about this?”

Luna nods.

“What are you waiting for, then?  Certainly not permission.”

“I’m waiting,” Luna breathes, pushing herself flush against Hermione’s body, delighting in the warmth that radiates from her.  “For you to be as desperate for this as I am.”

“Mmmm, you should know that I have remarkable self-control.”

Luna leans forward and presses her mouth to Hermione’s, her tongue darting out to lick her lips in an attempt at surrender.

“Is that so?”  she murmurs, feeling the moment Hermione melts into her, whimpering.

She smiles against Hermione’s mouth.  Victory tastes even sweeter the second time around.


	14. A new approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All too quickly, it becomes clear that to Snape that he’ll have to try a different approach when it comes to teaching Harry how to defend himself against the Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING: Underage!Harry; Wax play kink**  
>  Read at your own risk. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

“Potter,” Snape spits, as he hovers over Harry, grabbing at the neck of his gray t-shirt.  “If you can’t focus, we’re wasting our time.”

“I already told you, Professor,” he mutters through clenched teeth.  “This place makes my blood run cold.”

Snape scoffs and rolls his eyes, pushing a strand of stringy black hair behind his ear.

“Tell me, Potter -- where would you like to go?  Since you think you can outrun death.”

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”

“You little --” Snape grits, lunging forward carelessly.

Harry sucks in a breath and straightens his back.  He stands abruptly, digging his nails into his palms.  If he leaned forward just an inch, Snape’s lips would be pressed against his forehead, just to the right of his scar.  He shivers.

“Little _what_ , Professor?  Don’t worry, I can take it.”

“That’s absurd.  You’re a child.  You’ve no idea of your limits.”

“Oh, come off it.  I was never a child.  Besides, my inadequacies with practicing Legilimency could prove rather useful.”

Snape lowers his gaze and cuts his eyes at Harry.

“Completely insufferable.”

Harry actually laughs, ignoring the hard, thin line etched onto Snape’s mouth.

“Funny.  Malfoy agrees with you.  Though, unlike him, you never look my way.  Why _is_ that, Professor?”

“Because I have better things to do with my time, Potter.”

“Really?  Forgive me, but I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oblivious as ever, I see.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your inability to recognize the dangers, the change that surrounds us all is absurd.  You’re never going to make it out alive because, despite your delusions of grandeur, you’re still just a boy.”

Harry drops his gaze.  He sighs, and his shoulders fall, finally free of the tension that shackles itself to him as the sun rises and sets.

“If I’m so naive,” Harry begins, his voice merely a murmur.  “Find another way to teach me, then.  This isn’t working.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Snape deadpans, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

He steps toward Harry and fights the urge to yank him by the forearm.

“If you really want to learn --” Snape whispers, “if you think you’re ready …”

Harry nods.  He looks so much like his father in this moment, and Snape forgets what it means to breathe.

“Professor?”

The question lingering on Harry’s lips jerks Snape from his thoughts.

“If it’s trust and comfort you seek, you’re permitted to call me Severus.”

He swallows, willing away the slow creep of desire and shame slithering in his veins.  Fortunately, his anxieties are short lived.  A chuckle escapes his throat as he chances a look over his shoulder at Harry, whose jaw seems to be glued to the floor.

“Potter,” Snape barks, “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.  Come.  You’ve work to do.”

“Pardon, _Severus_ , but I think you mean _we_ have work to do.”

Snape scowls.  His robes billow behind him, causing Harry to shiver as he ascends the stairs.

By the time Harry reaches the Potions classroom, strands of damp, dark hair cling to his forehead, his breathing ragged.

“Oh, for shame, Potter.  I would’ve thought you more fit than _this_.”

“Not much time for Quidditch these days, _Severus._ ” Harry quips.  Snape resists the urge to gaze over his shoulder.  His name dripped from Harry’s tongue with such ease, as if it had been buried for three decades too long.

“Enough.” Severus snaps.  “Your days of being a lost cause are over.”

Harry lets out a mock gasp, clutching his chest.  “Must you wound me so?”

“I have plenty of ways to wound you.  Whatever it takes to survive.”

“Mmmm, ruthless has always looked good on you.”

Snape swallows, crossing the front of the room.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he murmurs.

Flames flicker against Harry’s lenses.  He tugs at the collar of his shirt, shivering at the bead of sweat descending from his nape.

“A Lumos spell? _Really_ , Severus?”

“Continue with your cheek,” Snape mumbles, “and I’ll make you call me Professor.”

“Is that all?  I’m surprised.  Leniency doesn’t suit you.”

Snape’s shoulders tense.  He feels Harry moving about the room, jerking his hand away as Harry settles next to him, his hips pressed against the worktable.  He pushes his glasses against the bridge of his nose.  Snape exhales.

“Despite your efforts against the Dark Lord, your tolerance for pain remains quite low.  Particularly the searing, burning pain you experience when he attempts to enter your mind.”

Harry nods, his gaze focused on the divots in the wood top table.

“So,” Harry begins, tentatively.  “What do you suggest?”

“Fire, of course.  It is, after all, the catalyst of your connection.”

Harry swallows.  “But how --?”

“You have to learn to tolerate the sensations that you feel when the Dark Lord tries to enter your mind.  Focus on those.  By emulating them, repeatedly, you become desensitized to the sensations, leaving you with the ability to focus on other things -- things that make you strong.”

“Mmmm.  I knew you didn’t believe I was weak.”

“Yes, well, that’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

Snape sighs, tensing as Harry wraps a hand around his cloaked forearm.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch me, Potter.”

“If I’m going to call you Severus, why shouldn’t I get to touch you?  I’m not an idiot.  Though I must say, I never thought I’d have to consent to wax play at sixteen.”

The moment Harry meets his eyes, Snape freezes.  A faint blush creeps up his neck.

“What?  Like I said, not an idiot.”

He watches Snape’s throat work as he swallows.

“And in case I was unclear, I am giving you consent,” Harry whispers, his eyes sparkling against the glow of the flames.

“Right, then.  Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Ready when you are, _Severus_.” Harry drawls, a grin creeping onto his lips.


	15. Dancing in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the war, Harry’s life remains disconnected, despite Draco’s presence. Draco is determined to show Harry that there’s more to life than picking up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Each chapter is meant to be read as a stand alone piece.

Harry shifts beneath the white sheets, careful not to wake Draco.  If he stares at the ceiling any longer, he may go mad.  He contemplates shuffling over to the aged wooden writing desk they share, but moving -- only to settle once again -- is too heavy a burden to bear.  Instead, he _accio_ ’s a sheet of parchment and a quill.  He’s always been a man of few words, so penning the note takes no time at all.  He places it gently atop his pillow, feeling the slightest pang of guilt gnaw at his chest.  In the end, leaving is easier than coming home.

**_Draco,_ **

**_Couldn’t sleep.  Going for a run.  Didn’t want to wake you.  Don’t worry, I’ll be fine._ **

**_xx,_ **

**_Harry_ **

 

Tension vacates its cozy home in Harry’s shoulders as he descends the stairs, raking his fingers through his hair.  Winter’s biting chill is in full force today, clinging to the nape of Harry’s neck the moment he opens the door and steps out onto the street.  It’s perfect.  His eyes close and he tilts his chin toward the sky, greeting the burn that seizes his lungs like an old, familiar friend.  The ghost of his youth.

He coaxes his muscles from their slumber with a slow jog.  The echo of his trainers hitting the cobblestone is incredibly reminiscent of the ticking clock in the Gryffindor Common Room.  He silences the ache that threatens to settle in his bones, digging anxiety-bitten nails into his palm, picking up the pace.

Soon, the wind picks up, lifting strands of dark hair from his sweat-slicked forehead.  It’s only then that he begins his sprint toward weightlessness.  Running is like flying, without the crippling fear of falling, surrendering to the nothingness below.  It’s just enough to satisfy him. And yet, he finds himself waiting for a resurrection that may never come.

The moment he reaches the bridge, he stops, transfixed on the shallow, murky water below.  He hates nature -- the way its cyclical being taunts him, the way the river flows forward despite it all -- a key witness to people’s finite lives.

Harry runs his fingers through his hair before shifting his hips and slinging a leg over the ledge.  The subtle sway of his shoulders -- back and forth, back and forth -- is enough.  Until it isn’t.

A warmth cuts through winter’s chill, and Harry figures it must be early afternoon.  He should stand up, turn his back, and jog home.  But he only shifts positions, blinks once and resumes staring into the abyss.  No longer searching for something in particular, but searching, nonetheless.  Because what else is there to do?

Dusk begins its descent, mouthing at the dirty river, sucking the poisons from its body.  At the sound of footsteps approaching, Harry sighs.  There’s never enough time.

 

“Harry,” Draco whispers tentatively.  He angles his hips toward Harry.  “Why do you return, after all this time?”

Harry shrugs in response, though pain and regret squeeze his heart in their hands.

“ _Harry,_ ” Draco says again.  His voice is warmer, closer now.  “Look at me.”

Harry does.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Draco murmurs, stroking his cheek.  His lip is pinned between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the crook of Harry’s neck.

“What’s there to do anymore, Draco?” Harry asks, flatly.

“There’s more to life than survival.”

Harry shakes his head.

“I wish it was enough.  I wish we were enough.  I wish -- _so many things_.”

“I loved you once, I love you still, I always have and I always will.”

Despite the soft smile he offers Draco, the sadness in Harry’s eyes is unmistakable.

“I never imagined it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Oh, Harry.”

Harry swallows, his gaze drops to the shallow waters below once more.

“It could be.  If you let it.  Just …” Draco pauses, shifting so that he’s flush against Harry’s back.  “Trust me, okay?”

“Draco …”

“Shhh.  Close your eyes.”

Harry’s breath hitches as Draco snakes his arms around his waist.

_“Obscuro.”_

Harry whimpers.

“Don’t be afraid.  I’m right here.  My mother used to sing those lines to me as a child.  She would run her fingers through my hair, her lips pressed against my temple, and hold me until I fell asleep.”

“And you let her?”

Draco chuckles, his lips pressed against Harry’s earlobe.

“I did, yes.  I felt safe with her.  And in the end, even though she couldn’t protect me, her presence was enough.  I clung to it.  It kept me alive.  You kept me alive.  Despite everything, she never abandoned me, and neither did you.”

“I was never going to leave you, Draco.  More than that,” Harry sighs, “I didn’t know how to.”

“Then stay with me, now.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me why, Harry.”

“I’m -- there are so many unknowns.”

“Are you or are you not a Gryffindor?”

“I -- I am.”

“Right, then.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.”

 

Frustrated, Harry attempts to wriggle out of Draco’s grasp.  A moan escapes his lips.  He has half a mind to elbow Draco in the jaw but thinks better of it.

“No one ever said it was going to be easy, Harry.  But, please, don’t do this alone.”

“I just don’t understand how, after all of this, you could love someone like me -- _this_ me.”

“Despite what everyone else thought, Harry, I always knew you were flawed.  Everyone is.  Yes, even me.”

Harry chuckles.

“You don’t say.”

Draco says nothing as he banishes the blindfold.

Harry blinks -- once, twice -- then tilts his head toward Draco.

Their lips meet and Harry feels the moment Draco lays himself open, vivid memories resting on Harry’s tongue before dissolving against the flesh in his mouth.

As the sun whispers its goodnight, lingering on the horizon, Harry understands.  
  
He had something to fight for, _then_ , and he has something to live for, _now_.


	16. I kept running for a soft place to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape fears Draco may be too far gone until he mentions Harry Potter’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Each chapter is a stand-alone piece.

Snape braces himself against the doorway of Draco’s room, his hand clenched fist mere centimeters from grazing the newly-tarnished wood.  He winces at the memory of Greyback yanking the door from its hinges as he dragged Draco by the collar across the floor.

“You’re weak, just like your father!” Greyback spat, as he hurled Draco up and flung him against the bed before he forced Draco’s knees apart with his heavy thigh. _He’s just a boy, Severus.  Please._ Bile rises in his throat, coating his tongue with its raw, deathly taste.

“Draco,” he murmurs.  The corridor is eerily quiet, but as he shifts his weight, Snape can make out Draco’s quiet sobs.  He remembers the way his shoulders shook with fear as Snape pinned him to the wall.  He didn’t think it possible for Draco to sink deeper.  Until now.  “I can hear you, you know.”

_ Thud. _

“You’re far too _pretty_ to crack your skull.”

Silence.  Then muffled rustling on the other side of the wall.

The squeaky knob molding to Draco’s palm.

“What do you want, Severus?” Draco whispers, his body flush against the door.

“Let me in.”

Draco chuckles half-heartedly.

“I’ll ask you again,” he murmurs, the words trailing off as he coughs.  The door shakes.  “What do you _want_?”

“Don’t push me, Draco.”

“Why shouldn’t I?  It’s what Malfoys do, remember?”

“You’re not a child anymore.”

Draco scoffs.

“Realized that last night, did you?”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Snape feels the moment Draco backs away from the door.  The air shifts around him, and suddenly it’s much too cold.

“Draco,” Snape coaxes, retrieving his wand from the back pocket of his robes.  “Let me help you.”

“We’ve been down this road.  It didn’t work in either of our favors.”

“That doesn’t mean --”

His sentence is cut off abruptly by the door swinging open in front of him.  He stumbles through the threshold before raising his eyes to meet Draco’s questioning gaze.

“Going to hex me, were you?”

“Oh _yes_.  Nothing would thrill me more.” Snape deadpans, tucking a strand of dark, stringy hair behind his ear.

Draco rolls his eyes, limping as he crosses the room before situating himself on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t have all the answers, Draco.  But I want to help you.  I promised --”

“Enough with the bloody promises, Severus!  Don’t you see?  We’re all as good as dead anyway.”

Snape’s eyes soften.  “I promised Harry I would help you.  Look after you.”

“ _Harry?!_  What in the name of Merlin does Harry have to do with this?”

“Everything.”

Draco scowls.

Snape moves about the room until he’s hovering over Draco, black robe blanketing his thin, frail frame from the waist down.

“ Love isn’t about finding the perfect person, Draco.  It’s about seeing an imperfect person perfectly.”

His war-ridden hand caresses Draco’s cheek -- once, then again -- before he turns to leave, not bothering to close the door behind him.


	17. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summers buried in the meadow by the black lake are just what Luna and Ginny need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> Each chapter is meant to be read as a stand alone piece.

Luna’s soft laughter blankets Ginny’s fiery hair as summer’s scent lingers on their skin.  Ginny shifts, her body buried in the meadow on the other side of the black lake.  Her fingers graze the bare skin above Luna’s hips.

Luna shivers, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.  “You’re awfully quiet, Gin.”

“Mmmm, just thinking.”

“About?”

“How nice this feels.”

Luna hums, nuzzling against the curve of Ginny’s neck.  She smells like french lavender -- warm, familiar, seductive.  Ginny whimpers.

“Luna,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed.  “ _Please_.”

“Of course, darling.”

Though Ginny’s eyes are closed, imagination paints Luna’s sweet, mischievous smile behind her pale lids with careful strokes.  She fights the urge to mimic the motion with her hands.

Luna goes quiet and there’s a heaviness in the air.  Ginny knows what’s coming next.

“You brought it,” she whispers, her throat tight with nervous desire.

“Mmmmm.  Yes.  I know how much you enjoy it, and who am I to deny you simple pleasures?”

Luna straddles Ginny’s right thigh, holding an ink quill between her fingers, pulling at her bottom lip.

“Open your eyes, Ginny.  Let me see you.”

Ginny swallows, lifting her trembling fingers from the earth, bringing them to rest on Luna’s hips.

“Perfect.  Now, tell me, where would you like to begin?”

Ginny opens her mouth to speak, but the syllables cling to her tongue, parched from the summer heat.

_Everywhere_ , Ginny mouths.

Luna licks her lips as Ginny watches the tip of the quill glide across her skin.  She moans -- a dry, cracked sound.  Ginny lifts her head slightly, and then Luna’s pushing her way into Ginny’s mouth, exploring and unveiling every dark corner with an intimacy Ginny would swear she’d never feel with another.

Ginny’s hips rise and fall as Luna covers her torso with black ink -- the feather-light touch just enough to drive her to the edge.  This time, though, she needs more.

As Luna shifts above her, Ginny shivers, desperate for Luna to take her apart.

Eventually, dusk clings to the clouds, illuminating the trail of Ginny’s freckles lining her spine.  She settles between Luna’s legs, lightly stroking her cheek.

If only summer were endless.


	18. Rain is a good thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy would give _anything_ for Draco to stop bloody staring at Potter. Unfortunately (or fortunately for Harry?), Draco is as predictable as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Each chapter is a separate work and is meant to be read as a stand alone piece.

“Draco, darling,” Pansy croons.  “You’re going to get a crick in your neck if you insist on repeatedly staring over your shoulder like that.”

“I’m not staring,” Draco insists.  “I’m … being observant.”

“And what purpose does it serve?”

Draco sighs, rolling his eyes at Pansy as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Honestly,” Pansy murmurs, “You should move on.  Life is not meant to be traveled backward.”

“Merlin, you sound like my mother.”

“Of course I do, darling.  Don’t you remember?  Whenever Snape was around, she simply couldn’t help herself.  The motherly advice fell uninhibited from her lips.”

“Ah.  Lily.  How could I forget?”

“Seems the two of you were more alike than you realized.”

His face pales and he pushes himself from the table without another word.  When Harry walks by, glasses slightly askew and gaze fixed on the cobblestone floor, Draco ignores him.  He certainly didn’t notice the slight tinge of pink that crept onto Harry’s cheeks as he passed.  Definitely not.

“Harry!” Hermione calls, the strain in her voice muffled by the sharp gusts of wind enveloping her.

Draco stands underneath the archway, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles turn white.  He will not get involved.  He will not get involved.  He will not --

“Potter’s finally lost his bloody mind, hm?”  He taunts, stepping through the damp grass, the soles of his black oxfords caked with mud.

“Oh, shut it, Malfoy.  It seems you failed to learn your lesson the last time you got smart with me.”

Draco chuckles.

“Let me guess.  He refuses to come down.”

Hermione huffs, though Draco catches the slight nod of her head.

“I’ll pull him down a peg or two.”  Draco murmurs, quietly _accio_ ’ing a spare broom from underneath the Quidditch stands.

“Malfoy,” Hermione warns, “Don’t provoke him.”

“Oh, Granger.  And here I thought you were bright.  If he’ll respond to anyone, it’s me.”

The last syllable hardly has time to reach Hermione’s ears before Draco ascends into the clouds.  This may very well be the only thing he and Potter will ever have in common.  Up here, they’re surrounded by freedom’s whisper -- weightless, yet anchored with the opportunity to begin again.

“Well, well, Potter.  Fancy meeting you here.”

“Sod off, Malfoy.  I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, but I think you are.”

Draco’s parallel to Harry now, swaying easily in the breeze.  Control in the midst of chaos.  The fiery embers resurrect themselves in his belly, coaxing him to push.  He wants to.  He needs to.  Though he’ll never admit it, riling Potter up is the only thing that makes him feel human these days.

“I said I’m not in the mood,” Potter barks, jaw clenched, hands wrapped tightly around his broom handle.  Threatening descent.

“And I said,” Draco drawls, “I think you are.”

Harry rolls his eyes, though his face is hardened.

“I know you better than you think, Potter.”

“Yeah?  Prove it, then.”

Draco thrusts himself into Harry’s ribs in an attempt to knock him from his broom.  Harry shifts a little, but he’s barely phased.

“Is that all you’ve got,” Harry challenges, pausing.  “... Draco?”

“Don’t you dare.  Where the hell do you get off calling me --”

“Now who’s riled up, eh?”  Harry smirks and dips below the clouds, invisible.

Furious, Draco dives toward the ground, a permanent scowl etched onto his face.

_Crack._

The downpour sneaks up on them both, heavy drops of rain soaking their clothes through, stinging their eyes, pushing them toward surrender.

_Thud._

Draco hits the muddy earth first, tumbling from his broom, landing with his chin pointed to the sky, strands of blond hair soaked with grime and dirt.  He tastes the sharp, bitter embarrassment seeping onto his tongue.

Harry follows shortly after, landing awkwardly, his cheek pressed against Draco’s hip, glasses knocked askew.  He’s heavy but warm, and for a moment, Draco wishes things were different.  That he could be Draco, and Potter could be ‘just Harry’.  That war hadn’t torn them apart.  Hadn’t made them cynical, suspicious and bitter.

… Then Draco’s fingers are tangled in Harry’s hair.  He’s tugging him upward, a spark of heat pulsing between their bodies despite the torrential downpour.  Draco lets go of Harry once his nest of unruly, soaked black hair is tucked underneath his angled chin.  He smells like soap and earth.  It’s as if time slows.  Draco’s lips are pressed against his head, and he revels in the sensation of Harry shivering against him.

“Mmmph, you --” Harry whimpers.

“What about me, Harry?”

“Still a --” Harry manages, extracting himself from Draco’s chest, sliding upward until his lips are ghosting over Draco’s.  “Git.”

“You think so?” Draco whispers, fighting the hitch that threatens to disrupt his steady breathing.

Harry nods, tongue tracing over his bottom lip.

“Mmmmm.”  Draco thrusts himself forward and presses his lips to Harry’s.  The kiss is awkward at first, rigid with surprise, but Draco feels the moment Harry melts into him.  He licks into his mouth tentatively, eager to swallow the moan in Harry’s throat before he pulls away.

Harry blinks.

“Still a git?”

“Not as much of one,” Harry mumbles, capturing Draco’s lips.

Hermione stands in the courtyard, her wand outstretched, enveloping them in a transparent bubble.

“Boys,” she muses, shaking her head before turning and making her way inside.

“About time,” Pansy mutters, leaning nonchalantly against the threshold, offering Hermione a knowing look.

“Shall we?”  Hermione asks, extending her arm to Pansy.

“Let’s.”


End file.
